To the end of the world…

WalkingThe world ends somewhere,
I know it does;
not sometime as in a date in some apocalyptic
‘you’d better watch out, you’d better not cry’
kind of way,
but a place, an edge, a cliff that
doesn’t look like the world’s end until it’s
too late
when you’re hit with that falling sensation
from dreams
or the lurch in your stomach that only happened
when you were a kid,
riding in the back seat of the station wagon;
that end somewhere
is not where people don’t live or work or love
or care even,
because they don’t care at all where
the world ends,
but I do and I think it’s
somewhere just past Iowa,
if you’re wondering.